Once Upon a Dream
by L. Alex Greene
Summary: The real story of how Michael and Rachel met. Tie-in to "Rodeo Dreams." M for heroin references and non-explicit first time.


**Yay, I figured out how to work this story in!**

* * *

_**2005**_

Rachel blew her bangs out of her eyes with a quick puff of air. She was tired, and even though, come the end of the day, she usually felt a sense of satisfaction, like she'd accomplished something good with her time, it was hard to keep that perspective during the actual work. More often than not, she found her thoughts wandering to places she'd rather be, like at the movies with Sarah or playing some three-on-three basketball with a few of her friends. It was the summer, after all, and yet she was working here, volunteering at a homeless shelter that doubled as a needle exchange. A lot of sketchy people came through, but surprisingly few seemed hostile or leered at her. That was a benefit, at least.

With a quick wave from Joshua, she started clearing away some of the tables. On her third go-round, she noticed that the tray in front of a particularly scruffy-looking man had hardly been touched. His knife and fork were still on the tray, but his hands were in his lap, and she couldn't tell if he was still eating or not. So she approached him and asked in her kindest possible voice, "Still eatin', hon?"

He blinked, startled, and looked up at her. It was hard to tell through the dirt smeared on his face and the week's worth of stubble, but he seemed younger than he looked—he might not have even been twenty yet. She immediately pitied him, even though most of the guests at the shelter didn't want pity. But not only was he dirty—and pretty badly in need of a shower—he was incredibly thin, practically emaciated.

_What happened to you?_ she wanted to ask. He had incredibly, dark-blue eyes and dark hair, and she wondered what he looked like underneath the grime and beard.

"Um. No." Just as quickly as he'd looked at her, he looked back down in his lap and shook his head. "I'm done."

"You barely ate anythin'," Rachel said quietly. "An' forgive me for sayin' so, but you look like you need it."

"I'm not hungry."

"You sure?" She didn't want to fuss over him, but part of her felt like he needed it.

"Yeah."

She chewed on her lip before answering. "Alright, hon. If you get hungry later, though, just come by the kitchens an' ask for me. I'm Rachel." She picked up his tray and started walking, but paused when he replied.

"I'm Michael."

She smiled and turned around. "Nice to meet you, Michael."

* * *

He didn't come by that afternoon, but she did see him a week later. This time, at least, he'd taken advantage of the shelter's showers and laundry services. He sat alone at his little table wrapped up in a robe like many of the other guests waiting for their laundry to finish. Like last time, though, his food had barely been nibbled on.

Almost against her will, she found herself walking over to his table again and crouching down to his eye level. "It doesn't work if you just stare at it, Michael," she joked gently.

"Rachel." He sounded surprised, although his voice was so quiet that it was hard to tell.

"Mm-hmm. Come on, eat somethin'. For me. Whatcha got here?"

"Pork chop an' green beans."

"Doesn't sound bad at all, actually. An' before you ask, yes, I _have_ eaten the food here."

"I can't eat it."

"Why not?"

"Not kosher."

Rachel put her hand over her mouth to keep herself from laughing, but inside, she was thinking, _God help me, he's Jewish. I _have_ to help him._ Besides, with his clean, freshly-shaven face exposed, he definitely looked like he was barely out of high school. And he was cute. His dark hair was getting shaggy, like it had only been a few months since he'd had it cut last, and something about his shoulders suggested he'd had muscle before it had wasted away. He looked like a football player that had lost fifty pounds in a month or less. "Then why'd you get it, you goof?"

A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. _Good._ He had a sense of humor, at least. "I wasn't thinkin'. By the time I realized what I got, it was too late."

"It's okay. I'll get you some chicken."

"You don't have to."

"An' why not?" she asked, straightening up to her full five feet six inches.

He didn't answer for a minute, just stared at his hands. "Nothin' kills your appetite like heroin," he murmured.

_Oh._ She felt the smile disappear from her face. She supposed it should have been obvious—enough heroin addicts had come through their doors that she should have recognized the glassy eyes and the pale, sickly pallor in his cheeks. But maybe she hadn't wanted to see it. "Just a little bit, hon. Three bites. Then I'll leave you alone."

He glanced up at her, just for a moment. She caught a flash of his blue eyes again before he was looking back down. "Okay."

She returned with a small plate with three bite-sized chunks of chicken and a fresh fork in one hand and a glass of water in the other. "Here. Three bites of chicken and some water. You need both."

He nodded and gingerly picked up the fork. He looked uncertainly at the chicken, as though deciding which one to eat first. Rachel chewed on her lip for a moment as he speared one of the squares and brought it to his mouth.

"So you're Jewish. Don't you have any family?"

He looked at her, pausing mid-chew.

"Sorry, I'm not supposed to ask. I'm not asking as a volunteer, though. I'm asking as a fellow Jew, really. We don't just let our people go, so I'm wondering if that's what happened. If you don't have family."

Michael shook his head and finally swallowed. A grimace flickered across his face, as though it had caused him physical pain, but he poked another cube. "That's not it. I got a dad an' a brother. Twin brother, actually, not that you'd know it by lookin' at us."

"Fraternal twins, huh?"

He nodded, half-smiling. "Like Jacob an' Esau. Although neither of us is particularly hairy."

Rachel smiled for a moment. "So, then, your dad kicked you out for somethin', right? You gay? You get involved with a _goy_?"

Michael let out a choked sound that might almost have been a laugh. "My dad wouldn't do somethin' like that. He'd never... no, not if I was gay. Or involved with a _goy_."

"A fight?"

"No. I just... left. I wasn't upset or anythin'. I'd just... you're probably not gonna believe this, but I'm eighteen. Just graduated high school—just barely—at the beginnin' a' June."

"I believe it," she said softly. She did, too. He looked young and vulnerable. Six weeks. He'd graduated six weeks ago.

"Funny. I look in the mirror whenever I can stand it an' I think it looks like I aged twenty years." He sighed. "So when I graduated, I just wanted some time away. Me an' my brother, we kinda grew up ridin' horses an' stuff, an' we did it competitively, too."

"Like in a rodeo? I've been tryin' to get my mom to agree to me ridin' for ages but she keeps sayin' no 'cause she broke a whole laundry list a' bones when she did it."

"Yeah, like in a rodeo. That's how my parents met, actually. An' I love it, but I wanted to experience somethin' else for awhile, I guess. So I left, came down here."

"Where're you from, if not here?"

"Tulsa."

"Tulsa? You're a long way from home."

"Five-hour drive from there to here, not that I can go back."

"Why not?"

"I'm broke. Fuckin' idiot me decided it was a good idea to try heroin, 'just to see what it's like.' Next thing I know... Car's outta gas, parked in some parkin' lot where no one gives a shit if I sleep there overnight, an' any money I can scrape together just goes to gettin' more. An' even if I had the money to go home, I couldn't. My dad... my brother... God, I don't want them seein' me like this."

His eyes were swimming with tears. She had to resist the impulse to draw him to her and hold him while he cried.

"If they saw what happened to me, they'd never look at me the same way again."

"Have you called them? Sent them a postcard or letter or email or somethin'? At least let 'em know you're alive, hon. Michael, if your dad isn't the type who'd kick his son out for bein' gay, then he's a great guy an' he probably misses you. An' he probably wonders where you are an' if you're alright. You need to at least let 'em know you're not dead."

Michael didn't answer except to put his second bite of chicken in his mouth.

"I can't imagine how rough your situation is, Michael. But I get the sense that you want to go home, just not like this, right?"

He nodded slowly.

"Then you have to do something to change it. At the needle exchange, they don't just hand out needles. They can help you quit, too. An' heroin withdrawal is gonna be a huge motherfucker, okay? I'm guessin' you already tried to get off it. But if you wanna go home, you'll get through it."

When he didn't reply, she went on.

"Look, I'm not gonna coddle you or somethin'. You majorly fucked up, okay? But your family, your brother an' your dad, they sound like good people. An' you miss them. I can tell from all the way over here. They'd probably welcome you back without question an' even help you kick if you ask. There's nothin' wrong with your own dad seein' you at your worst, or your twin. You guys are close, I imagine?"

"This'll be the first thing I never tell him about. He's... this is gonna sound lame, but it really feels like he's my other half. There wouldn't be me without him. I miss Lu more 'n anythin' else."

"So why can't you tell him?"

"Because... _I'm_ the older brother. He can't know how weak I've been. I can't let him know that."

Rachel wanted to roll her eyes. "Your reasonin' is flawed, but I won't argue with it. Really, the only thing keepin' you from seein' him again is the heroin. An' the only thing keepin' you from gettin' off that is you. So, really, it's up to you."

He poked at the last chunk of chicken. She'd seen plenty of heroin addicts eye food the same way—like it was poisonous, like they wouldn't put it in their mouths even if you paid them a million dollars. But amazingly, he ate it, chewing slowly before finally, reluctantly, swallowing.

_Time to bow out, Rach._ She reached for the plate to take it and the fork away along with his untouched tray, but he put his hand on her wrist. His hands were skeletal, a fact she'd barely noticed earlier, and his touch was light but warm.

"I could probably eat a little more."

She smiled. "Sure thing, Michael. I'll bring you somethin' else."

It was December before she stopped waiting for him to walk through those doors again. Four and a half months of waiting before she finally accepted he wasn't coming back. It was just as well, though. If she'd seen him even once more, she might have fallen for him, and she couldn't have that. Her life was in Dallas, not Tulsa.

* * *

_**2008**_

It was always a rush to hear the MC call out _Another show-stopping performance by Rachel Klein_ or something similar once she dismounted and took her bows. She couldn't believe her mother had refused to let her ride before. But now that she was nineteen, she was making her own choices, and her parents hadn't stopped her. She still only rode in Dallas, but she dreamed that one day, she'd be able to actually travel for it.

She joined her parents in the stands after her ride and shared a big tub of popcorn with them. They might not have wanted her to ride, but they couldn't deny that she had talent and they would still show up to support her. Besides, they actually enjoyed watching as long as their daughter wasn't the one risking her neck.

_"And now, ladies and gentlemen, making their grand return after a two-and-a-half year absence from the rodeo scene, please give a warm Dallas welcome to Mike and Nick Cohen!"_

The stands roared with applause and cheers, and Rachel tried to calm the uptick in her heart rate. Michael was a common name, after all. She couldn't count the number of times she'd jumped, hearing someone call for Michael or Mike or Mikey on the street or at shows like this. But Cohen was a very Jewish name, wasn't it?

But Michael had called his brother "Lu," not "Nick," and the MC hadn't said they were twins. Still, her eyes locked on the screen.

Two figures appeared, side-by-side. The slightly taller one had pale, reddish-blond hair, and piercing light-blue eyes. His grin said he just knew how hot he was. The one next to him...

Rachel covered her mouth to hold in her squeak of surprise. It _was_ him. It had been over two years and he'd changed, but it was unmistakably him. That same dark hair, dark blue eyes, easy smile—not as shy as she remembered—it was him. He wasn't bone-thin anymore, either. He looked healthy again, healthy and strong and happy. She'd dreamed that he'd finally gone home, she'd dreamed that he'd died of an overdose, she'd dreamed that he was still living on the street, trying to get his life together. She was relieved that it seemed he'd achieved the best possible outcome.

And their ride was amazing. She'd excused herself from her parents, claiming she had to go to the bathroom, and instead waited by where they'd be returning when they finished their ride. The whole time she waited, she kept wondering if he'd even remember her, if she was doing the right thing, if he'd want to see her.

Once in awhile, her gaze flicked to the scruffy-looking man with the toddler in his arms—she was no older than eighteen months—but he didn't so much as glance at her. The baby did, staring at her to smile and wave, and she waved back, but the man's eyes were firmly forward, intent on the Cohen brothers.

Comprehension dawned. This might just be Michael's dad. He seemed a little short for that—both of his sons were at least six feet tall, and he looked to be five-foot-eight in his boots—but it was possible. So if that was his father, who was the baby? And—?

A young, red-haired woman approached the man and the baby, and though Rachel mostly watched Michael, she could see when the woman settled the baby on her hip. She would have turned and gone right back to her seat if the stronger, inner part of herself hadn't rooted her feet to the ground, sternly telling her that she was just here to make sure that Michael was really okay, not to start something.

Michael and Nick finished up to thunderous applause. They threw their joined hands up in the air, and Nick gestured to Michael, who bowed before gesturing to Nick. Nick bowed too, and then the two of them turned and headed out of the arena.

A huge smile crossed Nick's face as his eyes fell on the redhead with the baby. "How's my little girl doin'?" he asked, plucking her out of the young woman's arms and settling her on his hip.

Rachel pretended she didn't feel the surge of relief as she realized the baby was Nick's daughter, not Michael's.

"She's fine. Didn't cry or anythin'. But I think she was more interested in that young woman back there," the older man said.

"Back—?" Both Michael and Nick looked right at Rachel suddenly, and the bottom dropped out of her stomach. He'd known she was there the whole time!

Nick smiled and waved, but Michael looked like he'd been hit in the face. And then, miraculously, he grinned. He murmured something to his brother, who nodded, and then he walked over to her. "Rachel? Is that really you?"

"I've been jumpin' outta my skin whenever I heard the name Michael," she said quietly. "That your brother an' dad?"

"Yeah. An' my niece June an' Anna, one a' the ranch hands. Come on, you should meet them. Just tell them that you're a friend from when I was down here in Dallas. An'... please don't mention the heroin thing. Or the homeless thing."

She nodded. "Sure. No problem." She followed him back to the others and put on her most winning smile.

"Dad, Lu, Anna, this is my friend Rachel. We met when I summered down here. Rachel, this is my dad, Chuck Cohen, my brother Lu, an' Anna Milton, one of our employees."

"Nice to meet you. Rachel Klein."

"I saw you ride earlier. That was fantastic," Anna said excitedly. "You grow up doin' this, too?"

Rachel laughed and shook her head. "I've just been doin' this for about a year or so, just since I turned eighteen. My mom broke a whole bunch of bones during her career an' she didn't want me doin' the same thing."

"I understand that," Chuck said with a fond smile. "But at a certain point, parents just have to let their kids do their own thing."

Rachel caught the way Lu's arm tightened ever so slightly around his daughter. She ballparked the baby's age at about sixteen months, which put her birth at last August, which put her conception at November of the year before, four months after the last time she'd seen Michael. Michael had been in town to take a break from his family—had Lu done the same thing after Michael had returned? She suspected the answer was yes. One son had returned a recovering heroin addict, and the other had returned a father. A rather interesting, if sad, realization.

But what a difference two and a half years made. Michael seemed to have made a complete recovery, and he looked great. She felt safe standing next to him and wanted nothing more than to burrow into his arms. She'd seen him at his worst, and now she'd seen him at his best. She knew which she preferred, and she was glad he'd made that change. _I'm proud of you_, she wanted to say. His family would never know how proud she was, either.

* * *

_**2010**_

Her heart leaped in her chest as his fingers brushed across her skin. It was impossible to come to any conclusion that wasn't that she was in love with him. Fortunately, he seemed to reciprocate, holding her close and going so slow that he almost seemed nervous. She kissed him and felt like she could breathe him in, and his hands were surprisingly gentle as he pushed her shirt from her shoulders.

Relief. She knew what bruisers could be like, and Michael was nothing like them. His father had raised him right—in the four years she'd known him, he'd never even yelled at her. Sure, they'd had disagreements, but Michael had always managed to stay calm, even if he did get a little sarcastic. And he was never rough with her.

So it ended up being her who pushed him onto her bed, kissing him again and again.

In between, he breathed, "We don't have to. I'm okay with it if you don't wanna."

"An' if I do?" she asked. "What then?"

He smiled. "I'm okay with that, too."

"No need to be nervous, Mike. I don't let people in here all willy-nilly. I wouldn't unless I was sure."

"I'm not nervous," he murmured, not quite meeting her eyes for reasons that had nothing to do with her best lacy bra.

"Liar," she sing-songed. "What is it? My parents are out of town for the weekend, so that can't be it. Are you a virgin or somethin'?"

He mumbled something she couldn't quite hear.

"What was that?"

"I said, it just never happened before."

_Oh, my God._ "Oh, my God." She covered her mouth to hid her grin. "I was jokin', I didn't think you were actually a virgin!"

"Well, surprise, I guess."

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to laugh." She shook her head. "Not even in high school? I figured a gorgeous hunk of Semitic man-meat like you would have dozens of admirers."

He smiled in spite of himself. "I did. Just none I liked as much as I love you."

She didn't have any words for that. She just kissed him again.

* * *

He went back to Tulsa three days later. A month after that, she dialed his number instead of emailing him like usual. When he answered, she simply said, "Michael, I'm pregnant."

Six hours later, he was on her front porch down on one knee. "Rachel Klein, will you marry me?"

There was nothing she wanted more than to be Michael's wife. She dropped to her knees and threw her arms around him, feeling like she was in a dream.

* * *

**And the rest, as they say, is history.**


End file.
